


Exercise in Confidence

by funktechnisch



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misuse of Special Techniques, Mutual Pining, Pre-Time Skip, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 22:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funktechnisch/pseuds/funktechnisch
Summary: Terrified of saying the wrong thing, Byleth's anxiety drives him to misuse his Divine Pulse ability to try and make the most of the free time he has with Linhardt.





	Exercise in Confidence

**Author's Note:**

> give a man an ounce of canon mlm rep and he'll end up making a mountain of content
> 
> calling byleth out for savescumming but we can't all pretend like we never did for tea time answers

“You never did tell me how that trout managed to pull you into the pond.”

Linhardt leans back until he’s lying against the warm wood of the docks, resting his head on top of his open palms, elbows bent at an angle on either side. His hair brushes against the tips of Byleth’s fingers before he pulls his hands away- he’s sitting on the opposite corner, pants rolled up to his knees and legs submerged just beneath the pond’s surface. The afternoon sun breaks through the light cloud cover and beams down onto Linhardt’s face, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. His feet are kicking lazily in the water- both his and Byleth’s shoes have long since been cast a few feet behind them, forgotten in the summer heat. The water splashes around Byleth’s ankles, and he leans forward to see his reflection in the pond, trying to recall the exact moment he fell into it.

“I lost my footing.” Byleth watches his distorted lips move in the water before he turns, looking over his shoulder at Linhardt. “I was more focused on my line, and I stepped too close to the edge.” He remembers walking to class soaking wet, boots in hand, uncomfortable and cold but determined to make good use of his students’ time.

A fish jumps into the air and hits the surface of the pond, sending water flying and catching Byleth’s attention. It breaches a few more times, swimming with vigor back and forth, looking for prey. Byleth’s steady concentration is only broken when he catches Linhardt sitting up in his peripheral vision. He’s speaking, Byleth finally realizes, but he doesn’t hear any of it.

“Were you saying something?”

Linhardt doesn’t respond, not right away. He thinks first, and shakes his head. “Nothing, Professor.” He draws his feet from the water silently, and his hands toy idly with a loose string that’s begun to unravel from the hem of his slacks. Byleth sucks in a sharp breath, and his stomach knots, because he feels like he’s disappointed Linhardt somehow. It’s not as if he’d meant to ignore him, Byleth thinks, but his change in demeanor has him feeling guilty.

The conversation comes and goes, mostly going, as Byleth tries to re-engage Linhardt in a lively discussion about fishing (without falling) and particular baits. His frustration builds the longer he tries, seeing Linhardt grow more and more disinterested; his quiet replies eventually become a series of affirmative noises and nods. Maybe he’s just tired, but Byleth can’t shake the feeling that it’s his fault for not being more attentive. It’s not often that he feels at a loss for what to do- it’s the kind of quick, versatile thinking that keeps him alive on the field. But when it comes to interpersonal relationships, he can’t help but admit he feels out of his element. It’s rare that Byleth ever has a moment to spare for luxuries like a healthy social life, and even rarer for his students to have a moment to breathe between classes and excursions. And here is, having wasted an excellent opportunity in the blink of an eye.

Byleth squeezes his eyes shut, the weight of anxiety and disappointment heavy on his chest, threatening to suffocate him. His mind wanders and settles on the feeling of Linhardt’s hair ghosting his fingertips. The gentle breeze blowing over the two of them stops, the birds grow quiet, and soon the only sound in Byleth’s ears is his own heavy breathing.

“You never did tell me how that trout managed to pull you into the pond.”

When he blinks, the sun is sitting a little higher in the sky, and Linhardt is still lying down next to him, and there’s a telltale tingle lingering in his hands. Byleth sighs in relief. He’s inexperienced, often at a loss for words- but unlike anyone else, he has an advantage over time itself.

With new determination to make things right, Byleth smiles, and turns towards Linhardt. “I lost my footing. I’m sure you remember the time I walked into class soaking wet, carrying my own boots.” He may come across a bit naive, but Byleth thinks his students surely know better than to assume he wouldn’t notice their suppressed laughter while his back was turned. 

Linhardt laughs, and he props himself up on his hands so he can get a better look at Byleth. “For someone who always seems so composed,” he muses, “I think we just assumed it was part of the lesson somehow. I can’t imagine you flailing about in the water like a fish. Frankly, it seems exhausting- I think I would have just stayed in the water.”

By the luck of the goddess, Byleth manages to capture Linhardt’s attention this time. They talk about fish again, for much longer than Byleth expects. He doesn’t mind; considering he spends so much of his free time fishing, it’s only natural he has so much to say on the topic. But his luck only lasts for so long, eventually finding himself scrambling for anything else to say to fill the gaps between thoughts. Linhardt waits, patiently, but the silence feels so heavy and stagnant between them. Byleth has to tear himself away from the eager look in Linhardt’s eyes, so quickly that he misses the little smile on his student’s face. Staring down at his palms, he rubs the tingling sensation away from one hand with the other.

“You never did tell me how that trout managed to pull you into the pond.”

He certainly has at this point, but Byleth smiles all the same and repeats his story. It’s rewarding enough to hear Linhardt laugh, even if it is at his own expense. He never ties of the sound.

Byleth has memorized a good portion of the afternoon by now, knowing which topics to avoid like dead ends in the road. Judging by the look on Linhardt’s face, he reasons he’s done a much better job this time. He looks captivated, inching closer to Byleth the longer they talk. It’s only when mention of Crests come about that once again, Byleth struggles to keep up. There’s only so much he can contribute with his limited knowledge, and although he enjoys how Linhardt’s enthusiasm escalates, he’s so scared of falling flat of Linhardt’s expectations.

When Byleth diverts the topic at hand back to something more familiar, asking Linhardt how his studies in magic are coming along, he knows very quickly that he’s lost him again. Linhardt’s eyes start to wander about, nails picking at the wooden plank next to him. Try as he might, Byleth can’t swallow the panic and anxiety in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he concentrates on the feeling in his hands again-

And when he opens his eyes, he’s in a black room with a sourceless light illuminating Sothis’ face, unamused and eyebrows drawn together tight. Byleth looks about before he stares down at his own feet, boots still missing and pants rolled up to his knees, cheeks hot with embarrassment. He hadn’t considered the possibility that there would be consequences to using a grand gesture of magic so frivolously. 

Sothis puffs out her cheeks before she exhales, loudly, striding over to Byleth and folding her arms across her chest. “How many times do you intend to subject me to the same conversation?” she asks, leaning forward and craning her neck up to stare Byleth in the eyes. “I thought that maybe the first time, you’d somehow done it by mistake.” He avoids making any eye contact with her, eyes darting to one side, but she follows his gaze with quick steps. “Really, does being with him cause you so much discomfort?”

Byleth looks up, startled, and gestures frantically with his hands. “No, of course not!” His sincerity takes Sothis aback, hard expression crumbling to confusion, and she drops her arms to her sides. Byleth isn’t often this expressive, so she clearly must have struck a nerve. It’s rather rare that she feels regret, or guilt, but today Sothis is feeling a bit of both.

“Then why do you insist on rewriting history for him?” She tilts her head, and Byleth tilts his away from her- she swears she sees pink flush creep across his cheeks. It’s the only answer she needs, and she can’t stop herself from laughing. “You poor thing.” He glances in her direction, confused more than anything, and she gives his arm a consoling pat. “It may not be my place, but if you’re going to abuse the power I gave you then I feel obligated to… guide you.”

Sothis sits- or rather, she overs precariously above the ground with her legs folded across her lap. Her hands motion for Byleth to join her, and he does, sitting and giving her his full redirected attention. “There is,” she begins, with a sort of wise reverence, “no one you can pretend to be that will impress him more than yourself.” When he opens his mouth to protest, Sothis cuts him off. “I did not ask you to defend yourself, only to listen.” She waits, seeing if he’s ready.

“He’s asked to spend time with you because he clearly enjoys your company, don’t you see? He’s not wanting for the lack of company that you’re trying to compensate for. There’s not any one correct response he’s looking for, this conversation is not a test of your wit and empathy.” Byleth seems to relax in response to her words; his hands still in his lap, and the small crease in his forehead has disappeared. A small burst of pride, maybe a sense of accomplishment, fills Sothis for just a second. “The only thing he could be disappointed by is any insincere version of yourself you present to him.” Sothis’ feet touch the floor gently as she closes the distance between them, ruffling Byleth’s hair between her fingers. “The only thing you have to fear from this is the wrath of a goddess for abusing her power.”

Byleth grins, swats Sothis’ hand away from his head, and nods once. “I understand.”

“Good! I wasn’t willing to repeat myself if you hadn’t.” She stands him up and spins him around with ease, pushing at his lower back and ushering him away from the light. “Have a little faith in yourself,” she says, “and know that I am with you.”

The first thing he sees next is the sun, still shimmering off the surface of the pond as it has for hours now. He’s been given another chance, it seems, and Byleth’s grateful. The dock creeks as Linhardt makes himself comfortable beside him, and Byleth asks, “Did I ever tell you why I fell in the pond fishing for trout?” Linhardt thinks before he hums in response, shaking his head. 

Anxiety feels like a physical lump in his throat again, but Byleth tries to let Sothis’ words soothe him enough to swallow it down. Linhardt chose to spend his time with him under no obligations. “Then,” he starts, slowly, “maybe I can tell you the whole story over dinner. Thinking about fish is making me hungry.”

Linhardt honestly seems surprised, but closes his slack jaw with a smile and sits upright again. “Yes, maybe a plate of freshly grilled fish is just the visual I need to truly imagine your plight, Professor.” He stands first, gathering both pairs of discarded shoes and handing Byleth his own before he’s even pulled his feet from the water. “As much as I’d love to lie here with you in the sun awhile longer, it’s probably best I eat while I remember to.” Byleth feels flushed as he slips on his shoes, and he stands, gesturing for Linhardt to lead the way.

The dining hall at this odd, early dinner hour is particularly quiet, brooms scuffing across the stone floor making more noise than the people inside. Off in a corner of the room by themselves, Byleth tries his best to make Linhardt laugh with precise details of his unfortunate fishing accident, succeeds, and blames his hot cheeks on the steam from his dinner plate. He lets Linhardt carry the conversation into Crests, and although he’s not as knowledgeable on the subject, suspects that Linhardt just appreciates his attentiveness. Every quiet moment in between words has Byleth replaying Sothis’ advice in his head, weighing the choice between panicking and persevering. Maybe it’s the conversation, or maybe it’s the company, but his fear and anxiety are eventually quelled. He finds himself so absorbed in their exchange that he hardly notices when his hand knocks his glass of water over forcefully, feeling it soak through his shirt in record time.

Face red, hands tingling, Byleth braces himself for the wrath of the goddess.

**Author's Note:**

> the first tag ao3 suggested while i was typing "anxiety" was "anal sex" and ive never been more scared in my life
> 
> i'm apicoplast on tumblr and @funktechnisch on twitter!


End file.
